


A Name From the Mailbox

by ToothPasteCanyon (DannyFenton123)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyFenton123/pseuds/ToothPasteCanyon
Summary: Dipper finds out the author's name before Not What He Seems. It's not the person he expected.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

‘Step right up to the Mystery Shack, folks! Name’s Stanford Pines, Mr Mystery!”

Dipper looked up as Stan came through the door. He watched his uncle shoot him a winning grin before turning it on a group of unsuspecting tourists.

“This right here’s the gift shop! I know this kinda place is usually the last stop at your museum or whatever, but we do it different here, folks! Look around; everything’s weird, and it’s for sale! Buy something. Seriously, we’re not moving on till everyone buys something.”

He looked at the tourists milling about the counters, and jumped slightly when Stan appeared next to him.

“How’s it hanging, kid?”

“Wh-what?”

“You look like you seen a ghost or a shower or something.” Stan flipped up his eyepatch. “You been staying up too late again? I told you you were working the till today.”

He stared at his uncle’s face. Underneath the table, his hands clenched a piece of paper.

“Uh, Grunkle Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I… can I ask you somethi-“

“Hey, tourists coming your way.” Stan jumped up. “Tell me after the tour, eh?”

“But-“ Dipper watched him walk off. He made a face, and looked down to the note in his hands he’d taken from a mailbox in the woods.

**WHO IS THE AUTHOR?** It read.

**THE AUTHOR OF THE JOURNALS IS STANFORD FILBRICK PINES.**

“You like that shirt, kid? If you throw in another one, I’ll make it two for the price of three!” Stanford Pines stood before the line, leaning on his cane. “No refunds!”

Dipper frowned.

* * *

“There’s no way he’s the author.”

“Aww, c’mon, Dipper!” Mabel swung her feet as she sat on her bed. “You said the same thing about McGucket, and look what happened there! Maybe Grunkle Stan really wrote it?” She grinned. “Maybe he knows about unicorns! We should ask him, Dipper! Dipperrrr!”

Dipper stood in front of his corkboard. He pressed Stan’s picture against the centre, and then hesitated. “It just… it doesn’t line up. If he’s the author, what’s the deal with the six fingers? And the whole Mystery Shack thing - why would he just drop all his research to open a tourist trap in the middle of nowhere?”

“Maybe he’s doing it in secret?”

“Maybe, but… it just doesn’t make sense that it’s him.” He rolled his eyes at the photo of Stan posing with his wax twin. “I thought that the author was gonna be someone who actually likes the supernatural, for one. Stan doesn’t even want to talk about it with me.”

Mabel watched him sigh, and slump against the bedrest. She came over, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, bro, maybe you should tell him!”

“Why? It took raising the dead for him to admit magic exists at all. I don’t think he’d admit to it even if he was the author.”

“Oh, yeah, karaoke night! We should do that again!” She giggled at his expression. “I’m joking, goober. But really, you should just ask him. He promised to be more honest with us, right? Maybe if he knows you know, he’ll know it’s okay to let you know what he knows, you know?”

“What he promised was that he wouldn’t keep any more secrets,” Dipper muttered, but he rose to his feet. “Fine. I guess it’s worth asking first. You think he’s in the living room?”

“Yeah, I saw him watching that weird fancy soap opera when I went to find Waddles. He tried to change the channel before I saw it, but he can’t hide anything from me!”

“Apparently, he can.” Dipper picked up the journal, stared at it for a moment, then put it under his arm. “Let’s go, Mabel.”

The two of them made their way down the stairs, and into the hallway. The light of the TV left a harsh glow on the floorboards as they stepped into the living room. Stan was sitting there in the dark; Dipper looked at his face, and for a moment he really tried to imagine Stan as the author, as the man who’d spent years in the forests of Gravity Falls, who’d made dozens of intricate illustrations and detailed notes on the oddities within…

Then Stan met his eyes, and he jumped. Stan jumped too, and quickly changed the channel.

“Oh, kids! I was looking for something to watch, but there’s, uh, nothing on.” He coughed. “You wanna put on a movie, or something?”

“Ooo, Dream Boy High!”

“Mabel!” Dipper shot her a look. “That’s not why we came down here.”

“Awww…”

“Oh yeah?” Stan scratched his chest. “What’s up, kid?”

Dipper took a deep breath. He clenched the journal against his chest. “Uh, Grunkle Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“You know the, uh, the journal, right?” He watched Stan’s face carefully. “I’ve spent - we’ve spent, um, all summer so far trying to figure out who the author of it is, and - you’ve lived in Gravity Falls all your life, right?”

“More or less.” He frowned. “Why? I told you, I don’t know nothing about that spooky journal of yours.”

“But we’re starting to think you do, Grunkle Stan! We think… you’re the author!” He waited for Stan to say something, but he just furrowed his brow and turned up the TV. “We found this - this mailbox in the woods that knows everything, and we asked it who the author was and it said Stanford Pines!”

Then Dipper saw it: a flash of  _ something  _ across Stan’s face. He stared at Dipper for a moment with wide, shaken eyes, and Dipper blinked.

“It… it’s true! You are the author!”

“Stanford…?” Stan shook his head. “Kid, I’m not the author.”

“But-“

“You found this out from what, a mailbox in the woods? Oh yeah, that’s a  _ real _ smoking gun.” He chucked, but now Dipper heard something distinctly forced in it. “You really, heh, really found me out!”

“But Grunkle Stan-”

Stan stood up quickly. “Hah, listen, kid, the only thing I’ve been writing for thirty years is attraction signs, and I pawn most of that off on Soos! You really think I’ve got time to wander off into the forest and write all the stuff that journal’s talking about? I got a business to run!”

“But it was an all-knowing mailbox, it couldn’t be wrong…” Dipper clicked his pen. “What about that boarded-up room in the shack, with the mind-switching carpet? That doesn’t make sense, someone had to have made that, and you said you had this Shack built yourself!” He followed Stan into the kitchen. “And hey, why’d you build it so far out of town anyway? And right next to the secret bunker and where this journal was hidden?”

“Secret bunker?” Stan raised an eyebrow. “When’d you kids go down a secret bunker?”

“Like a week ago!” Mabel grinned. “We fought a shapeshifter  _ and _ Dipper’s inner emotions!”

He frowned. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you kids went down in some spooky bunker? I thought you promised not to go looking for trouble with that journal!”

“And I thought you promised you didn’t have any more secrets!”

“And I don’t!” Stan shook his head. “Yeesh, kid, I mean, I don’t know what to tell you! I’m not your nerdy author!”

“But-”

He grabbed the journal. “And I’m taking this stupid thing.”

“Hey, Grunkle Stan!”

“I should’ve done it the second I laid eyes on it. You kids get into enough trouble without a literal roadmap to all the weirdness in this place.”

“No! You can’t do that!” Dipper clenched his fists. “Give it back!”

“Whoa, Dipper, calm down, alright?” He stashed the journal under his arm. “Look, it’s for your own good. Your head’s getting way too wrapped up in this mystery stuff; I think you could do with a break.”

“But I’m so close to getting to the bottom of all the big secrets of this town! You can’t take it away now!”

“I’m sorry, kid, but I just can’t trust you with it!” He tried for a grin. “C’mon, how’s about we have some real summer fun rather than this conspiracy junk? Y’know, put on some popcorn, throw on a show… heck, I’ll even let you pick. Don’t get used to it, alright?” He chuckled. “So, what do you say, kids?”

“Yeah!” Mabel looked to her brother. “You should pick Dream Boy High, Dipper! Dipper?”

Dipper looked up at his Grunkle’s face for a moment, took a deep breath, and then spoke. “I say,” he started, “I’m gonna go to my room, and I’m gonna find out what you’re hiding from me, journal or no journal!”

Then he turned and walked out of the room. Stan watched him go, then looked to Mabel, who shrugged.

“I guess he’s not up for it tonight? Anyway, I’ll get the popcorn on, Grunkle Stan-”

“Hey, hey, hold your horses.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You know, it’s gettin’ late and all. Let’s do this some other time, okay?”

“Oh, really?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You just want to watch your old man soap opera, don’t you!”

“Heh, sure.” His smile faded a bit. “That’s my secret.”

“Okayyy, but I say we are gonna watch Dream Boy High together this summer!” She gave him a hug. “Night, Grunkle Stan.”

“Night, pumpkin.”

She made her way towards the doorway, and then stopped. “Oh, and Grunkle Stan?”

“Yeah?”

There was a pause. “Are you the author?”

“What?” He blinked. “No. I have no idea what Dipper’s talking about.”

Mabel grinned. “Yeah, I kinda thought so. It sounded really cool, but can’t see you writing that journal.” She looked up at him. “You sure you don’t know  _ anything _ about unicorns, though?”

“No, kid. I had a horse with a cone taped on its butt once, though. The Corniune!”

Mabel giggled, and they both shared a laugh at that. She stepped away.

“You’re silly, Grunkle Stan. Love you, enjoy your old man show!”

“Goodnight,” Stan said, and watched her skip up the steps. He heard the attic door open and shut, and then sighed. The smile fell from his face, and he stood up, brushed himself off, and looked down at the journal in his hands.

Six golden fingers gleamed at him from the cover, and he rolled his eyes.

“All-knowing mailbox in the woods, huh.” he muttered. “Thanks for telling me about that one, Poindexter.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Gravity Falls Public Library. Dipper didn’t find himself going here as often as he’d thought he would. Sure, there were books, but whoever the librarian was they certainly weren’t stacking them in any kind of system; it was impossible to find anything you were looking for besides dusty magazines heaped up on coffee tables.

But for all the library’s shortcomings, it did have one thing the Shack didn’t. It had computers.

“Is that a dial up sound, Dipper?”

He shrugged at his sister. “Maybe? I dunno what that sounds like.” He sat back. “Wish it’d load faster. Ugh, I swear these things are cursed to be slow or something like that.”

“Oooo, curses!”

“Just need to wait for it to load…” Dipper took out a notebook. “If I can’t have the journal, fine. I don’t need that. I don’t need him. I’ll find it out myself.”

“You’re muttering, bro bro.” Mabel poked his face. “So what’re we looking up, anyway? I thought you said all the websites for magic stuff are ‘unnacurate’ and ‘disturbing’.”

“It’s innacurate actually, Mabel.” He pushed her hand away as the computer finally loaded. “And I’m not looking for Gravity Falls stuff. I’m looking for Stan.”

“What’s he doing on the internet? I don’t think he knows what it is.”

Dipper started typing. “No, but maybe we can find out something about him on there.”

“Ooo, like secrets!”

“Yeah, like secrets.” Dipper made a face as he put in ‘Mystery Shack Gravity Falls’ and got a few sites with mixed reviews. “Oh you gotta look at this, Mabel. Someone wrote, ‘A friend recommended I bring my family here. We spent five minutes inside, and in that time the owner charged an exorbitant entrance fee, scared my children with some horrific taxidermied duck-rat thing, and then made up some fake ‘early exit charge’ when we tried to leave! We are pretty sure he picked our pockets too, but the police in this town are useless. I’m out a wallet and a friend.”

Mabel giggled. “I’m pretty sure Stan has no idea about these! Oh, this one’s from when I was boss! Ahem, ‘The last time I was here an old man was giving the tour, but when we came by the manager appeared to be a young girl. Everything appeared to be slightly destroyed too? When I asked for a refund because part of the roof fell on me, she told me to shut my yap. Other than that, great as always. Love the money bag.” She gave a fist pump. “Aww yes, I got us a five out of five! Let’s read more, this is fun!”

“Actually, Mabel, we’ve gotta keep looking.”

“Awww.”

Dipper tapped on the keyboard. “Okay, I guess the Mystery Shack doesn’t turn up much. How about… just his name?”

He typed that in, and sat back as it loaded.

“Alright, Stan. Let’s see what you’re hiding…”

* * *

It was late at night when Stan snuck his way back into the Shack. He opened the front door as quietly as he could, and shut it behind himself, making a face at every creak. He took off his black mask, his leather gloves, and stashed them under the register before moving to the blinds. He kept a close eye on the parking lot as he drew them closed; it didn’t look like he’d been followed.

Ugh. Stan didn’t like messing with the feds, but it wasn’t like anyone else had any radioactive waste handy. He’d scope out the place a few more times, just to be safe… but that was for another night.

With a big sigh, Stan headed over to the vending machine. He raised his arm to input the code, but something told him to look around first. His eye caught on a small darkness on the base of the staircase, and he paused a second before pressing the code for a candy bar. He picked it up, unwrapped it, and munched on it as he headed for the living room.

“Grunkle Stan.”

There it is. He turned on the light.

“Oh, hey Dipper. Having fun standing in the dark like that?”

Dipper had his arms crossed. “You’re out late.”

“Yeah, ’cause I’m old and I do what I want.” He sank into the chair. “What’s up, kid? If you’re gonna ask for your journal back you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“No, that’s not why I’m here.” He pointed to a large stack of papers on the side table. “I found this.”

“Huh? Oh, you didn’t use the copier, did you? Paper’s expensive, kid.”

“No, I printed it out at the library.” He made a face. “It was like twenty dollars. Now look!”

“Ugh, I already sat down, kid. Can’t we- _Oof!”_ He grunted as the pile was dumped in his lap. “Watch it, that’s a lot of paper! You’re gonna have to summarise whatever this is, because I am _not-”_

“It’s your thesis, Grunkle Stan!”

Grunkle Stan paused, and looked up at Dipper. He looked very, very serious, and he came a step closer.

“Well?”

“Well… well what? Thesis?” Stan tried to stand up, but the papers kept him down. “I don’t know what you mean, Dipper. Seriously, I’ve never seen this before in my life-”

“You wrote it!”

“What?”

“Look!” He grabbed the top page and stabbed a finger at the author line. “Stanford Pines! All summer long you said you didn’t even go to college, but you’ve got a PhD! You wrote a thesis about anomalous sightings in the western United States! Admit it - you _are_ the author!”

Stan found himself shrinking back; he had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to be able to brush this off. “Wh-where’d you even get that from?”

“I found your college online. Apparently they’re still writing about your thesis since it’s the only nationally ranked one in their history.” Dipper clicked his pen. “You’re, you’re a _genius,_ Grunkle Stan! I-I have so many questions, like why didn’t you tell us? Why’d you stop writing the journals? Where are the other two?”

“I… I…” He took a deep breath. He had to get control of this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ki-”

“Oh come on-”

“I don’t! Look, there’s obviously been some kind of mix up, it’s not like Stan Pines is a rare name-”

“Already thought of that.” Dipper held up an article. “I found this piece about how you used your grant money to build the Mystery Shack. It’s even got a photo - it’s you.”

It was a gutpunch to see Stanford’s college photo shoved in his face, but he tried to swallow it. “Kid-”

“I don’t understand why you won’t just admit it. I know you don’t want us messing with the supernatural, but all summer long I’ve been reading your journal, trying to solve the mysteries of this town. The author was a huge one - I-I was kind of worried I’d never find out, or I’d find out he was dead or something, but it’s you!” He grinned. “And now I know, we can work together! You don’t have to keep pretending! You can trust me with this!”

Stan looked down at his nephew’s face, and gave a deep sigh. There was no easy way out of this. With a bit of struggle, he hefted the thesis off his lap and onto the floor, then put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

“Dipper, listen. I’m not the author.” Stan saw him open his mouth and quickly continued. “I’m not, okay? I know you like your mysteries, but just this once, could you _please_ just take my word on this one?” He made a face. “I don’t want you or your sister getting hurt. So just forget about it, okay?”

Dipper frowned at him, and for a moment Stan didn’t think that was gonna work - it was a long shot, anyway. But then something seemed to click in his mind, and he stepped back.

“Forget…” he said. “Grunkle Stan, do you know about the Society of the Blind Eye?”

“The what?”

“It’s-“ He reached under his arm and rolled his eyes when he realized there was no journal. “Ugh, I’ll draw it.”

He grabbed a paper from the pile and started sketching something out. Stan stood there, a little confused.

“Sounds like a cult. Did you join a cult? Ugh, your folks are gonna kill me.”

“It’s this!” Dipper shoved a paper in his face - a crossed out eye, a symbol Stan remembered seeing somewhere in the journals. “Have you seen this before?”

“Kid-”

“Ugh, that doesn’t prove anything, though. You might’ve forgotten that too.” He clicked his pen, and then took off for the stairs. “I’ll be back!”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Stan called out, but he was already gone. He threw his hands up in the air. “Great. _Perfect._ Hey, can you come back down and explain what all that was? Dipper?”

No reply. Stan frowned; he made to follow, but his foot snagged on the stack of papers. He caught himself on the wall, and turned back to look at the scattered pile. Each page was lit by TV static, stark white in the light, and pitch black in the shadows. He narrowed his eyes at that picture of Stanford, that stupid thesis.

“Fine.” He gave the mess a kick and stalked into the gift shop. “Fine.”

Dipper wasn’t going to stumble into this so close to the finish line. He’d worked too hard for too long. If the kid was so intent on figuring him out, he’d just have to work faster.

He gave a long look around before entering the code. The venting machine swung open with a puff of air, and he shut it quickly behind him before marching down the steps.

No more scoping out. It was time to finish the job.


End file.
